CTA Tattler

Last Saturday, I went to U.S. Cellular Field to see the Detroit Tigers and Chicago White Sox fail for four hours and ten minutes at creating something resembling offensive output. (The output was offensive, alright.) I rode the Purple from Evanston, and switched to the Red. On the way back, there was a group of high school age-ish kids, all cussing at each other and drawing angry looks from the middle-class adults, one of whom was occupied with his shopping bag. He kept taking out a little cardboard box with information for a 'win a trip' sweepstakes printed on it, a contest sponsored by Oreo cookies. He kept reading the cover, over and over again. I don't remember where the bag was from, but I know it said "thank you" in many different languages all around it. (He got on near the Mag Mile stop.) Anyway, the strangest thing that happened was the 16-19 year old, a young black fellow, who slept the whole time. He was seated in the shotgun seat to the left of where the operator would be, if it was the first car of the train. Head slumped against the glass, body barely moving except to match the movement of the rails, he lasted a good hour or so without a single flinch. The train stopped at Howard and everyone got off except him. A CTA employee walked past the train, did a double take, and started banging the window with her fist. He stirred and glared at her as she shouted, "End of the line! Wake up! You have to get up! Get off the train!" The guy finally rose and stumbled toward the exit, but the sing-song warning tone had already sounded long before. Either expecting the doors to open or thinking they were, he almost walked into them face-first in his sleepy state. Lucky for him, Miss CTA pointed out the knob. He shuffled off of the train and promptly collapsed on a bench, fast asleep. He was still there as I watched from the train to Linden.

Also, some city? CTA? employees with K9s boarded the train while it was in the subway sector. They got off and walked slowly toward the renovation site there. Any ideas on what might have been going on? The dogs were muzzled, and I think they might have been German shepherds although I'm not sure.

The theme of this one: "The Good Old Days"
I pretty much grew up in a DuPage suburb and then a couple of in-state college towns --Mom was in education and took a while to find the right hi-stress/long-hours/lo-pay gig. I'd spend one half of my summers enjoying bonfires under the stars and cable TV in the screenhouse with the country relations and the other half with a grandmother who lived at Outer Drive East at Randolph and the lake.

The CTA was largely an abstraction to me, albeit a noisy one that operated directly overhead, as Grandma T and I would sit on a window ledge outside Field's on the Wabash Avenue side and wait for her building's plush motorcoach to swing by promptly on the quarter-hour and pick us up after an exhausting day of shopping and dining at what was, at that time, The World's Greatest Department Store.

In 1989 --which, coincidentally, was Mayor Richard M. Daley's first year in office-- I moved into a crowded, diverse and imminently dangerous Northside neighborhood near the Howard Terminal in order to be within close transit of my college on the North Shore, and a regrettable necessity associated with this new life situation was my regular, near-daily patronage of the services of the Chicago Transit Authority.

What should have been the simple act of walking the two blocks from my studio apartment to the terminal, by way of the gaggle of two-legged scum hanging about the sidewalks abutting Howard Street, was a true everyday slice of Hell on Earth, about two notches better than depictions of penitentiary life that I have seen on TV...until I figured out that there was a back entrance to the terminal that enabled me to avoid a daily diet of harassment and confrontation at the hands of the demonic hordes of Howard Street. Once up on the northbound platform, the inexplicably lengthy wait each day for the terminal traffic nitwits to manage the immense chore of bringing forth an empty northbound Evanston train quickly brought me back to reality.

As a part of the the weeklong activities comprising new student orientation at my school, a couple of CTA flunkies in khakis and short-sleeved buttonup shirts and cheap ties offered a presentation in which they spelt out the full range of services generously made available to CTA customers. With their breathless promises still ringing in my ears over a decade and a half later ("All of that...twen-ty-four-hou-rs-a-day!"), here is a summary of the way it is and the way it used to be.

--TRANSFERS: Full fare at that time was one U.S. dollar; a transfer ran you an additional 30 cents. No farecards existed at the time, although they were already part and parcel of the transit experience in such locales as the Bay Area and Washington, D.C. Transfers were paper and could not be used on the same bus or eL line as that of the original ride at the point of purchase, which would be indicated by either the bus driver or the window agent at an eL station (or, past a certain hour, by a conductor aboard a train) making a punch on the route number where it appeared on your transfer slip.

In other words, if you wanted to make a run to a grocery store that was located two eL stations away, the letter of the law required a passenger to purchase two full fares, one going out and then another one coming back. One way to avoid this, and to get there and back on a single transfer (at a savings of 70 cents), was to grab a bus on the nearest street with bus service, pour a buck-thirty into the hopper and declare "transfer, please," signal for the next stop, hop off the bus and then walk to the nearest eL station and proceed with your quicky (and perhaps technically unlawful) round trip. Just make sure to hold on to that transfer, bub, and hey --better the 70 cents in my pocket than theirs, and in particular in the economic state in which I found myself during those lean and hungry times.

Nowadays, of course, with fare cards having replaced the paper transfer and common sense somehow having prevailed, one is at liberty to make a round trip on the same bus or eL line at single-fare-plus-transfer with no questions asked. Call it a miraculous triumph of public bureaucracy, and call it about the only thing about this wretched transit system that actually has gotten better over 16 years.

FARE STRUCTURE: I repeat that full fare at the time was one cash dollar, and a transfer ran an additional 30 cents, but I'll explain shortly how you could get the job done for a buck-twenty; with the cost of full-fare-plus-transfer now standing at two dollars, I pause to ask how many other basic consumer necessities have had their price hiked by 66.67 percent over the last decade and a half, to say nothing of the quality of the product getting progressively worse?

Shortly after my move into town, the Authority figured out a clever way to pocket customer money up front by pushing the use of transit tokens, which were available for purchase at currency exchanges and at supermarket service counters. Sold only in lots of ten, nine dollars fetched you a roll of ten tokens --so full fare could now be reduced to 90 cents, and you could still add a transfer for 30 cents.

I don't remember exactly when, but full fare got jacked up to $1.25 sometime in the early '90s (as transfers remained at 30 cents), and it wasn't many years later that the dollar-fifty full-fare threshold was reached, which I believe coincided with the introduction of the farecard regime. Tokens (and paper transfers) were eventually supplanted by that rather abrupt switch to the farecard system now in force since the mid-'90s.

SERVICE: To this very day, you can see color-coded signs on some eL platforms indicating "A Stop," "B Stop" or "All Stops." These are vestiges of what once was a sensible way of moving taxpaying citizens around with some degree of efficiency and avoiding dangerously overcrowded conditions in trains, in particular during rush periods.

The comprehensive renovation of the Brown Line, including both the overdue gut-rehab of the stations and the extension of the platforms to accommodate longer trains intended to service increased demand, might have been made simpler --and should not have necessitated the total simultaneous shutdown of the line-- had "A-B" service not been discontinued as a cost-slashing measure in the early 1990s.

Let me put it like this: where is the need to lengthen trains --and correspondingly to shut down stations in order to extend platforms in the name of accommodating longer trains-- if you can reduce the number of people who would be hopping on a given run by a theoretical third if in turn, by making each run an "A" or a "B," you eliminated roughly a third of the scheduled stops that it would make? Duh!

I'll acknowledge that perhaps the "A-B" service was overly lavish back in the day --there's really no need to run alternating-stop trains on weekends, during middays and overnite (which I don't think that they ever did anyway), but the shock of the the drastic and total nature of the A-B service cut is something from which the system has yet to recover --just look at the needlessly packed conditions of Red and Brown Line all-stops trains during rush hour. It didn't used to be this way --or at least anything close to as bad as this-- and there's no need for it to be this way now. In short, I call upon the Idiots That Be to reinstate A-B rush hour service on all transit lines at once.

No better is the demise of the Evanston Express as an express train in anything but name only. Used to be that the EvEx made all Evanston stops south from Linden to Howard, at which point it became an express train stopping only at Belmont and Fullerton before re-establishing itself as a "local" at the Merchandise Mart (or maybe it was Chicago Avenue; small difference) and then circuiting the Loop before making the return jag northward as an express train with stops only at Fullerton and Belmont before Howard. Those who now endure the lengthy rush-hour passage that includes Brown Line stops at Wellington, Diversey, Armitage, Sedgwick and Chicago Avenue might rightly wonder just what's "express" about the whole rotten exercise.

Without a full command of the facts, and out of a desire to simplify things, I'll also offer an example of the severe bus service cuts that were instituted sometime in the late 1990s. The #50 Damen Avenue bus is a magnificent secret, its northbound run originating at the 35th Street Orange Line station, running north to the Blue Line at the Eisenhower Expressway, continuing past the United Center on its way to the Blue Line station in Wicker Park and then cruising over the river between Fullerton and Diversey on its way thru Roscoe Village and Ravenswood before terminating at 5700 North where Ashland meets Clark Street.

It's a great run for those who, for instance, desire to return by the most direct possible route to Wicker Park, Bucktown, Roscoe Village, Ravenswood or (as far up as) Edgewater on the Northside, or McKinley Park down South, after a Bulls or Blackhawks game or a concert at the UC; such persons might just as well take the Stadium Express back downtown and hook up with an eL line once there, but in The Biggest Small Town in the World, there's something to be said for service to one's door, if only in a relative sense.

To my extreme and everlasting ire, service hours on the Damen bus, among others, were cut in the latter half of the 1990s. No longer does it run until shortly past midnite, but instead only one run picks up on Damen Avenue, next to the United Center parking lots, after 10 PM anymore. This means that if you're at a Bulls game and harbor a humble ambition to ride out on the #50 after the game, then you'd better pray that it doesn't go to overtime; as for the 'Hawks (upon the return of NHL hockey), you can forget about it, as the games don't end till about 10:30, and you'll miss the last bus out. As ever, what a comprehensively brilliant piece of planning.

I could go on, but I'll pause for now. Permit me to conclude by saying that in these times of a "transit funding crisis," it only seems reasonable to me that the Authority might rightly petition the state and federal governments for funds in a more creative way that stands in line with the nature of the public function that it serves. Given that the system's rolling stock functions as both a mobile psychiatric unit and a combination toilet/public waste disposal site on wheels, perhaps there are available funds under such line-item categories as "mental health" and "sanitation." At the very least, it's got to be worth a shot.

My letter to Carole:

I sympathize with you Carole, however people in Chicago DO travel to other cities where we notice that their public transportation systems don't:

• have iron work/tempered glass/heated&lit bus rest areas
• have aboard thier busses scrolling message boards announcing time of day and the name of the next stop
• have aboard thier busses audio systems to play prerecorded public service announcements to warn us of unattended packages, riders who "sneak aboard" and more.
• have three completely separate methods to pay your fare on every bus.
• have within downtown underground train stops, audio systems with celebrity voiceovers announcing those very stops and nearby events/points of interest.

All of these things are great and even appreciated by your ridership. However Carole, what Chicagoans who travel do notice about other cities and thier systems of public transportation:

• trains and busses run on time
• fares are 25 to 75¢ cheaper than in Chicago
• system capacities are generally greater and better upgraded

Neither side of this argument wholly outweighs the other. However the public is wise and sees clearly this disparity. A balance must be struck between the largesse that has existed and the more operationally self-sufficient and tightly-run ship that we all know the CTA can and must become. Other cities have managed to foster more self-sufficient, less glitz, more grit, functionally and fiscally superior public transportation systems. The people of Chicago deserve the same.

Carole, the more you and other officials of the Authority deny mismanagement of funding, the higher up within the organization the axe will almost certainly fall. When will you and other officials begin discussing constuctively what new steps neccessary to begin the process of reducing overhead costs and improving service?

There's a "Star Security" guard, female, over 40 who works at Washington Street sometimes. A couple weeks ago I guess she needed to turn the watchman-station key down on the platform, so I watched astonished as she A) hit the emergency stop on the upbound escalator, B) inserted a key to start it going downward, C) RODE THE ESCALATOR down to the platform...hit the watchman station and did the whole thing in reverse to go backup.

Pretty amazing level of exercise-resistance, that.

On Monday I was heading to work (Midway Airport)on the Orange line. When I arrived on the platform and waited for about 5 minutes, I heard over the PA system that Orange line trains were not operating between Roosevelt and Halsted.
I went down to the kiosk to inquire about more info. The CTA employee whom I spoke to was clueless as to what was happening. Just then I saw a fellow employee, who said that we needed to take the 62 Archer Bus to Halsted and catch the Orange line there.

We did this thinking we would be able to hop a train and get to Midway in time for our check in.

Well to say the least we waited for another 30 minutes at Halsted before a train showed up. Of course we had to call our work and notify them of our delay.

When the train arrived it was full of people who had been at Roosevelt when we were there!

I understand things happen, but it was frustrating to say the least! No one informed me of a delay until after I had paid my fare and hauled my bags up the escalator. Then no real information was given, and what was given was really of no value!

I never found out what happened but it would be nice if CTA could be a little more helpfull in these situations!

Someone was coming down to meet me for lunch on Saturday 4/30, the day the man was hit by a red line train. She got off the train at Belmont and hopped on a bus to meet me at the Virgin Megastore, where I was. When she showed up, she said there was a wheelchair-bound woman on the bus singing and screaming. Her lyrics went like this: "I'm just a lone cowboy - IN ILLINOOOOOOIIIIIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Over and over, apparently, so loudly that it disrupted everyone. My friend couldn't take it any more and got off the bus and hopped in a cab.

I was on the L today with a guy who was unabashedly picking his nose for a good 20 minutes. After five years on the CTA, it takes a lot to surprise me, but you don’t often see an otherwise normal-looking guy mining for gold with such abandon.

Earlier this evening, I was on the outbound Milwaukee Avenue bus (that would be the 56). I was trying to read The New Yorker but I couldn't, as there were dueling Trixies on their cell phones across the aisle from me. When I first noticed them, I thought they were talking to each other. But then I realized that they were both speaking, on their own phones, to different parties. And though there were plenty of seats for one of them to move to, neither budged from her seat. I was hoping that they'd get in each other's faces and start squabbling, but alas, no. They both disembarked at different stops between Division and North Ave.

I get off the bus at Western Avenue, so I can get the Western bus (24) up to Bark Chicago to pick up my friend's dog. The bus is a while coming, but when it comes I see that I am rewarded by the following personages:

a. Middle-aged man, dirty baseball cap, staring straight ahead. His face is wet, though it doesn't look like he's crying. He has a thick thread of drool streaming out of his mouth. Nobody takes the free seat next to him.

b. Young man in baggy jeans, jacket, basketball jersey. Immaculate white Nikes, cell phone on which he takes and makes about five short calls between Milwaukee and Armitage. I hear him dial and leave the following message: "I heard you been calling on my sister's phone. If I hear you calling on my sister's phone, you better believe I'm gonna break your face motherfucker. Again, you call my sister's phone, and I will break your motherfuckin' face."

I actually had quite a disturbing experience. I ride the red line about 4 days a week to get to school. One day, I had the window seat and this big, african-american man sat next to me. I usually always sleep or just close my eyes. Anyways, when I opened them, he was touching his penis right in front of me! I actually saw the nasty thing! He had a newspaper in his left hand to cover what he was doing, so basically I was the only one who could actually see, not that I wanted to. I was frozen out of fear, shock, and disgust. I didn't know what to do and whether or not to bring it to anyone else's attention. I'm a scaredy cat like that. So I excused myself and got off at the next stop. Ever since that day, I never take a window seat, unless it's the one directly behind the seats where the handicapped are supposed to sit. Now I usually sit in those side seats, neither facing forward nor backwards.

Sunday morning I was waiting for a Brown Line at the Francisco stop. There was a large group of people there who looked to be suburbanites who had driven into the neighborhood, parked, and were taking the train to Wrigley Field. There was also a woman who, if you called Central Casting and asked them for a bag lady, they would have sent you this woman. She was wearing mulitple shirts, a volumous skirt of indeterminate color, one boat shoe and one probably-used-to-be-white sneaker. She had the dozen or so suburbanites cowering near the station end of the platform. She wasn't paying any attention to them, but none of them were going to go near her, as if bag-ladyness is contagious.

After what probably seemed an eternity to the suburbanites, we could see a train make the turn out of the Kimball/Lawrence station and head our way. Right and peedthen the bag lady sat down on a bench, arranged her skirt, and peed all over the platform. I noticed one of the suburbanite moms actually put her hand over her son's eyes, though there really wasn't anything to see. The train arrived, everyone got on, then off as the baglady got on the same car as the suburbanites. I got on a different car and went on my way.

Simple story. Sock dealer, Red line, Dan Ryan stretch. His line? "HEY, EVERYONE! DON'T BUY ROCKS! BUY SOCKS!"

Give him props for creativity.

I just saw a guy get his umbrella stuck in a El door. It was classic! It was at the Library/State/Van Buren stop. The doors were closing and he stuck the umbrella in hoping to reopen the door. NOPE! The umbrella got stuck. The guy walked with the El and tried to get it back but the El startes picking up speed. He gave up and yelled "shiiittt!' and watched the El take off with
his umbrella wedged in. It happened at 7:15am this morning. He could have used the umbrella b/c it was pitch black and started pouring.

Yesterday morning, *I* was the crazy. I was on my usual morning duty, staking out the single seats on a Brown Line car in hopes of scoring one when people transfer at Belmont.

Awesome cool, I got one. And then, just as I was sitting down, I glanced down and thought I saw some kind of huge spider on my left shirt sleeve. Then as my pea-sized brain kicked into gear, I realized it was actually a wasp, at which point I freaked out and dropped my newspaper and started gesturing for the guy across from me to pick it up so I could shoo the wasp away and possibly smash it.

So as I'm doing my little dance in place to the amusement of several, pulling a sort of stammering Lou Costello act, the wasp gets dislodged from my sleeve and falls to the ground, right next to the paper. Then comes my moment of triumph, as I drop a Kenny Cole right onto the thing.

"Did it get you?" some guy asked me with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"Nope, but I got him," I said as coolly as possible under the circumstances, and settled back in for the trip downtown.

Honestly, traveling on the Chicago Transit Authority in the morning can be hilarious. Let's take this morning for instance.

Boarded a local #3 King Drive bus at my usual stop. It was an articulated bus, which means about 70 seats. The farebox was broken, which means free ride for everyone. Keep in mind it's raining, no one really wants to go to work and traffic is mildly affected. This has to be the slowest bus driver I have ever seen. It took 30 minutes to get from McCormick Place (2300 South) to Monroe and Michigan (100 South/100 East). Along the way the bus driver is literally ignoring the "Stop Request" signal, passing up people's bus stops. We get to 11th Street and an older lady pulls the cord. The bus driver slows down, prepares to stop, and then accelerates. The lady is pushing on the back door (which won't open) and yelling to the driver "open the door!! why won't you open the door?" The driver finally lets her off at 9th street.

While I'm on the subject of the driver, it makes no sense that this particular driver not only drove 15 miles an hour all the way downtown, but found it necessary to stop and talk to his supervisor for five minutes. In rush hour. On a major street. With angry passengers already late for work. This driver had a death wish.

Let's not forget the passengers that have no knowledge of how to deal with passengers trying to exit the bus. When you are forced to stand in the exit vestibule, and people are trying to use the exit door, common sense would dictate that the person either steps off the bus or gets out of the way. This caucasian man stood in the exit vestibule, and 7 people wanted to get off at Congress. This man DID NOT MOVE and expected everyone to GO AROUND HIM. Naturally, he got run over and literally pushed out of the way. Makes me feel as if I'm in New York.

Just think, the Chicago Trifling...oops, I mean Transit Authority is about to slash service by 30 percent and raise fares to unheard of levels.

Tuesday evening I'm riding the Metra Northwest train home. Although the car was full, it was absolutely quiet except for the sound of a mousy, 40-something woman having a very loud conversation on her cell phone. For the next 35 minutes...Yes, 35 minutes...she proceeds to call everyone she knows to describe the Betty Boop watch she just bought. Over and over again she details each part of the watch. "It's a red-red watch. Not pink, not red...red-red. Betty is wearing a darling little dress. Her hair is so cute. It has lipstick tubes for hands. I love Betty. I'm so excited to find this!" We all glared and laughed at her obnoxiousness, but she continued to call everyone in her address book. We are not impressed Miss Boop!

I was southbound on the 151 Sheridan. A gentleman sitting behind me taps my shoulder and recognizes me as living in his buidling. We talk about the various things we don't like about our buidling and after the conversation winded down, I stood up and excused myself because my stop was coming up and the conversation was somewhat uncomfortable. I stood by the exit and I hear a womans voice. I turn and see a beautiful woman. She's looking at me as if she's awaiting a response.

"I'm sorry. Did you ask me something?" I ask.

"Are you Cuban?"

"Oh my God, no."

"What are you?"

"Mexican."

"You speak spanish?"

"It was my first langauge."

We just stare at each other for what feels like an eternity but in reality was only three seconds. I turn around thinking the exchange has ended. Then she asks:

"Are you having a hip-hoppity day?"

"What?!"

"You seem happy, like you're having a good day. Are you?"

"I guess a lot of things have been working out for me lately."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I am too. . .it was nice talking to you."

I turn around and I hear her say, "Baby Princess Jennifer!" I snap around and look at her. Then it all falls together. She's fucking crazy. I relase a sigh of relief. It was as if the murderer at a mystery dinner had been revealed. A feeling of, "I get it now. How did I not know all along."

I stepped off the bus thinking how cruel it was. God would make the crazy beautiful.

I had a similar experience to mb's story on may 5th. I few years ago I was riding the green line from Oak Park to work at 6:30am. It was early in the morning, I was drinking my coffee and really wasn't in any mind to comprehend what was going on around me. I had semi-noticed a man that had sat down across the lisle from me that kept moving his leg. When I looked up to see what the man was doing, he had moved his shorts to the side, was looking dead at my face and was getting a nice rhythm going. I had no idea what to do...the call button to the train operator was right next to his head so I couldn't do anything. There were a few people sitting on the other side of the car so I grabbed my things and sat down closer to them. He got off that the next stop probably because he had nothing to look at anymore.

I was freaked out for the next few days and always sit next to other people on the train.

Maybe this belongs in the "best bags" category? This is just a general observation that I've made over the last few years riding the Red and Purple Lines downtown every day. I always notice women carrying smallish bags from various stores (in addition to their work bag), usually with lunch, magazines, and whatnot in them. These bags are from places ranging from gap to starbucks to tiffany to some random boutique on Armitage.

My theory is that its a kind of status thing... the higher-end the store the bag is from, the higher your coolness factor is. Maybe its socio-economic status?

Has anyone else noticed this or am I just crazy?

I've noticed it too. Sephora bags were the big thing for a while. I'm certain it's a social thing.

This morning, I was running late and squeezed onto the Brown Line; I had no idea what was in store for me. I was standing up, holding on to the pole, just staring out the window, when suddenly this lady next to me said "you are very pretty." Then proceeds to pet my head at least five times!! I was so stunned. Thankfully, a guy offered to switch me places. Yuck, I still can't believe she petted my head. I can't wait to shower.

I step on the O'Hare bound blue line train, as is my usual weekday commute and am greeted by a tail-wagging german shephard mix. "That's wierd;" I think, as I watch him strut up and down the car and look around trying to figure out who brought a dog on the train. Little did I know that everyone else in the car was doing the same thing. Eventually someone steps up and asks, "Who's dog it this?" We all stare at each other blankly and he decides to call the conductor...

Passenger:
"Uh, hi, there's a dog on the train."
Conductor:
"A what?"
Passenger:
"A dog."
Conductor:
"Well, let him off at the next stop."

So the passenger lets him off at Addison (maybe it was Irving Park?) and the dog promptly walks across the platform and into a train waiting with it's doors open to head in the opposite direction.

Perfect timing...

lemmonjello:

The new plastic bags Marshall Fields uses are perfect lunch bags.

Note to Jen: I have blogged about the woman you describe petting your hair:
here

This morning as I got on the Brown Line at Belmont, I scored an empty middle aisle seat right behind a man sitting by himself. He was sleeping against the window and his hair was so ratty and nappy that it looked like a spider crawling out from underneath his baseball cap. A few stops after I got on, a well-dressed, pretty woman in a Coach hat sat right next to this man and glanced warily at him, but obviously decided that she didn't want to give up that seat. Suddenly, at about Sedgewick, the sleeping man shifted over to his left and laid his head on this well-dressed woman's shoulder. It happened so slowly that there was just enough time for me to see him falling and then see the horrified reaction on the Coach woman's face. He barely touched her before she deftly slid out from beneath him and stood in the aisle. The few people who witnessed this all seemed truly fascinated and most of us were laughing. The great thing is that even though this woman had gotten up and no one took her place, he was still leaning over into the other seat. He was literally suspended at the waist, just sort of bouncing and rocking as the train moved. Was he drunk? Really tired? Or just another CTA crazy? Questions for the ages, people.

Haunted Shelter?

Seen at the Irving/Pulaski bus shelter during evening rush hour on Thursday: a body, sitting upright on the bench, covered by a white sheet. The shelter was cordoned off with yellow police tape and an officer waited nearby until three men from GSSP -- the stellar contractor hired to transport bodies to the Cook County morgue -- arrived to "tag-and-bag" the deceased.

(I had plenty of time to witness the action as I waited more than 30 minutes for the northbound #53 Pulaski bus to arrive -- or I should say a trio of three buses bunched together -- the nightly norm on Your CTA.)

A local convenience store owner speculated the dead fellow was in his late '50s and had suffered a heart attack. He also reported the body had been sitting in the bus shelter for at least three hours. (Good thing it was unseasonably cool weather.)

Wonder how many buses stopped and waited for the deceased before deciding he was merely sleeping in the shelter?

As with mb and cmama I too had a rather disturbing experience involving the opposite sex. I was on the 36 bus (which in and of itself should have been an indication of the clientele but I was new to Chicago then)late afternoon on a Sunday. I had been in Chicago for about 3 months and was really enjoying the city having come from a smallish town in Iowa. Anyway, I'm reading my magazine (something innocuous like Glamour or Vogue) when I notice the guy next to me making some strange movements. I glanced over at him only to see him looking at my magazine and getting rather excited with the help of his hand. I was literally frozen for a second not knowing what to do. Finally I got the courage to ring the bell and get the h*** off that bus even though I was several blocks from my destination. At that point walking seemed like a much safer option.

Oh and it took me several months to sit by the window again.

Anyone else witness the fireworks at the Harlem/Lake station last night?

I got a ride to the train from a friend - she was none too comfortable with my riding the Green Line alone at night. I reassured her that all would be fine as we pulled up to the station. Just as I got out of the car, I hear a loud bang-pop from the tracks overhead. My friend leaps out of the car and the tracks erupt into sparks & flame. This is not the usual sparking as a train goes by - this is just under a parked train, and looks like it means business. The sparking stopped after a few seconds, but not before setting a few ties on fire. The best part, in my opinion, was the cluster of people on the platform who just stood & watched. Eventually, as the smoke cleared, someone pushed the "customer assistance is needed on the platform" button...

"Oh that settles it!" cried my friend.

I got a ride to the Blue Line, instead.

I was riding the brownline a few weeks ago when two teen agers got on and started to talk in very loud voices. Eventually, they began to sing as loudly as they could, which would have been okay, I guess, had they been any good. They were HORRIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!! and they wouldn't stop. Nobody knew what to do until one woman from the other side of the car asked them politely if they would be quite to which one of them replied,
"It's a free country!"
And the othershouted, "I can sing if I want to, don't steal my songs from me!"
Most people started laughing and there was a brief moment of silence. Then...it started again. One of the teenagers took up his song in full voice complete with pubesent voice cracks and a squeaky attempt at a Maria Carrey-esque flourish after whish the girl with him started clapping and then took up the song herself without any sense of pitch or rythm whatsoever. I would have paid serious money to hear Simon Cowell's reaction to all of this, but instead, another voice of reason chimed in. A man sitting just a few seats behind them, a man with headphones on simply said,
"Come on man, chill out. Ain't nobody wants to hear that. Come on."
The crowd started to chear, the two got off and went to another car and amidst the applause and laughter of my fellow CTA riders, I heard the man who had finally expelled them (in a manner of speaking) from the train say quite simply,
"Man, those two need some serious help."

Oh man, that is a great line: "Don't steal my songs from me!" That could be straight out of FAME. I wish I had been there for that one.

Reading this website has made me think about all the strange things that I've seen in my 20 years of taking the CTA. I was on the train yesterday when I thought of a few cellular momments that I've had myself:

1. I was on the Green line and it was packed as usual when I was standing next to a guy that was on the phone. After the last few stops downtown, the train is packed like a can of sardines. The guy was talking to one of his friends about how he got out of jail after serving 8 years for a felony a few months ago and it was hard to find a job because he didn't have any work experience. He then started talking about how he met this girl and told her his story and she was going to let him live with her. I couldn't believe it; a single woman who doesn't know a thing about this man is going to let him move into her house in one day. When he got off at Ashland, two ladies and I started laughing so hard. We couldn't believe how desparate that lady must have been to have a man. One of many morals from this story: you can help a person get a job by hiring them instead of taking them in under your roof.

2. I was taking the #86 bus (one of the buses on the chopping block. It's sad because half the riders are children going to school) and everybody boarded the bus; nothing out of the usual. Two ladies are sitting next to each other across the aisle from me. I kept hearing a strange noise come from that direction. I couldn't tell if it was crying or laughing. Finally a really loud cry came from one of the ladies. I look over and she was in full cry mode with a cell phone in front of her face. She was completely incompasitated from what was said to her over the phone. Her friend took the phone from her hand and started talking to the person on the other end. The next thing I hear the lady ask was "is anyone making the funeral arrangements?" Somebody told this lady that someone died over the phone. I had a short ride so I had to get off. I would have liked to have heard the end of that conversation. Moral of this story: don't give heart breaking news to a person over the phone when they are in a crowded public place.

Saturday night I was on the Red line heading home from Soldier Field. At Jackson, a man came in from the other car and starting ranting about how we all had soap and deodorant and he didn't. He then started trying to shame us all into giving him some money so he could get soap, toothpaste and deodorant for himself. Finally, one guy said "if I give you $5, will you be quiet. Ranter took the cash and said "thanks for helping buy something from McDonalds tonight, and hopped off at Division. Very bizzare.

I took my first trip to Chicago last weekend. A friend and I were riding the train from O'Hare and a well dressed reasonably attractive young woman got on. She had a cell-phone and a to-go bag from McDonalds with a salad. After eating the salad, she proceeds to take out a napkin, rip a piece off, cumple it up, and quickly pop it in her mouth. She does this for the entire napkin, making sure that noone is looking. (I saw all this out of the corner of my eye) This continues for 2 more napkins. After this strange meal, she gets lip-liner out of her purse, and applies it. I'm talking to my friend, scanning the car, when I notice that she looks around, and proceeds to lick off the stick before putting it back in the tube! A guess when you eat a meal of napkins, you need a fitting dessert.

to e, mb and cmama, and anyone else who has had sickos flashing them (or other kinds of assaults, you get my drift.) first, i want to say that i'm really sorry that this happened to you. i would have though that by the 21st century people would have evolved beyond such behavior, but i digress.

what i really wanted to say was next time, (if you feel safe enough) look away, take a deep breath, and turn the shame on the offender. don't let him have that power over you, take it back girl! i've been on the train where this was happening and the woman sitting next to the sicko stood up and said loudly "ladies and gentlemen, we have with us a real live pervert here" and went on and on about how inappropriately he was behaving, and what do you know, the guy got off at the very next stop his head bowed in shame! and i'll bet it was a looong time (if ever) that he did that again.

the most important thing is always your personal safety, so look away, take a deep breath and follow your instincts. sometimes it's best to get out quickly, but if the moment is right and you have it in you, stand up, speak up and put that sicko down!

oh how i wish i had the guts to put the sicko on the spot. i'm just paranoid that sickos like him will remember me and follow me one day. i'm such a worry wart. personally, i feel the most safe when i don't draw attention to myself.

Hello. I know this isn't really related, but I'm not sure where to ask. I'm new to Chicago and I'd like to make some friends in the city. Does anyone have any suggestions on some social groups or classes I could join to meet people? Thanks.

Maybe I'm a little bitter, stuck up, bitchy or anti-social (for all of you psych majors, does anti-socialness run in the family cause my dad a very closed person), but damnit, I don't talk to drunk people on trains...I pretty much don't talk to many people on the train. This morning I was taking the green line downtown when halfway through my trip (for some reason my 20 minute ride to 35 minutes) a guy in this fake army gear gets on the train. He's humming a song semi loud; actually I think he was making up a song about riding the train. I was one stop away from my station when I get up and stand near the door. He said, "Hey pretty lady." I normally don't respond to people when they say that, and I definately wasn't going to respond to him cause now I can smell the liquor radiating from him. So I guess he started to get mad that I didn't turn around to address him so he started talking about how he knows I heard him and he was going to keep talking to me until I said something. Like hell I'm going to turn around. He continued to talk to me, about me and whatever until I got off at my stop.

I'm not associated with this product... but I thought it was clever and would interest some of you. I saw them featured in Chicago magazine last year. They are silk-screened t-shirts with whatever el stop you want. It defines something about you. Got a Puple Line-Dempster one and thought it turned out pretty well. Anyways, here's the website:

http://www.toghaus.com/#

I remember one Easter Sunday while I was in college I was riding the Blue Line to UIC, when a guy sat across from me and masterbated right in front of me. I didn't really notice what he was doing until he shot cum all over my shoes. That had me freaked out for a long time.

Remember the good ole days...when we didn't have colors for routes but names like Lake St., Ravenswood, Congress. And for those of you on the Green line, there was a Homan stop. Or those flimsy paper transfer cards that drivers punched and before that TOKENS (I used to get my tokens from the dominicks next to the station). And actually having to pay an attendant instead of a turnstile. And the one that blew my mind, my mom said how she got to Chicago State University from the west side, the now Green Line went down the south portion of the now Red line to 95th street. My dad hasn't taken public transportation in almost 40 years and he still thought that was the green line going down the Dan Ryan. Ahhh...the good ole days :)

Let's face it. There are times when we wish the person yakking it up on their cell phone would speak up.

9 AM Sunday morning, a southbound 146. Woman in the seat in front of me starts gabbing. The parts of her side of the conversation I hear are:

"Oh you don't know...she's the lovechild of Lucille Ball and [CTA announcer tells us to keep our belongings off the seat next to us]...foster home...adoption...no, the child is not really a relative...listen, I guess I should tell you the story from the beginning...

At that point, the bus pulls onto the Drive and the motor drowns out the rest of the conversation.

To start with, I'm in my 9th month of pregnancy. This morning I get on the Brown line and it was rather crowded. A man gets out of one of the disability/handicap seats for me. At the
Chicago stop another very pregnant woman gets on the train. No one budges. I tap the shoulder of the lady (mid-40s, very well off looking and no noticiable physical limitations) sitting next to me and point out the very obviously pregnant woman who has just boarded the train. Her reaction is, "so". I was like, "oh I thought maybe you would like to offer your seat to her." She says, "I would rather not".

People please remember the designation of these seats. You can stand for the 10mins it takes you to get your desk before you can sit your butt down again. Pregnant ladies sense of balance is off due to the heavy load in front and the joints loosening to allow the baby to be born.

If this was your daughter wouldn't you give them the seat? Remember she is someone's and you should give the handicap/disabled the respect they deserve.

A friend and I were waiting to get on the Red Line (of course) at Belmont at about 9:00 on a Wednesday night. There were a lot of other people waiting to get on the train but there was one man who was looking around very suspiciously, like he was waiting for someone to jump out and attack him. When we heard the train start to approach, he leaned his head out very far over the tracks and looked right at the train. As soon as the train arrived, he proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs, "Don't get on the train! Don't get on you're all going to die! Don't get on the train it's too dangerous!" My friend and I quickly moved to the other end of the stop and got into a car. I looked back to see if he was still standing on the platform. I couldn't find him. I think he got onto the train anyway. Nothing like a mental to make the ride home a little more entertaining.

I transfered over to the Red Line going north at jackson last thursday at around 9:30pm. I already had my earphones on for my ride back from class. I sat in the cleanest seats available (i.e. the seats with the least amount of junk food on them) behind a large african-american male sprawled out over a double seat. Now I did not hear this when I first entered (my music must have been at a louder passage) but at the next stop he would blurt out as the doors were closing "When I open the door, bitch better get in the car!" - and he proceeded to repeat that phrase at every stop. I don't know if felt like he was giving us all a ride or what, but he never made any other aggressive behaviour or even otherwise reacted to his fellow occupants in the car.

Kate, about your CTA story about the lady who wouldn't get up for the pregnant lady. That's Terrible!

Might I suggest next time turning to the person in the other designated seat and whispering "I'd get up if I were you, I think my water's about to break."

Just a suggestion.

Today, I was heading north on the Red Line after attending the Cubs game. These two senior citizens, who were also at the game, got into a conversation about keeping score, and how they both had peanuts left over from the game. One of them was sitting next to me, and decided to offer me some peanuts. I gratefully took two peanuts and ate them while listening to their conversation. They got to talking about why K stands for strikeout, and the senior citizen across from me said it might be from bowling, and a lady quickly corrected him because K is not used in bowling. Jokingly, the guy next to me shot back, "All you're doing is confusing me.....next time you go to a game let me know so that I don't go with you." (Of course, throughout the whole ride, I was just trying to keep myself from laughing, because this had CTA Tattler stamped all over it). Finally, when we got off at Howard, I made a point of thanking the guy who gave me free peanuts. He responds, "See, that other guy, he's a cheapskate, he's not offering anyone his peanuts!" Then he turns to me with his peanuts and says, "Hey, you want some more? Actually, take the whole bag!" So now I've got half a bag of peanuts from the Cubs game, which with the prices at the ballpark these days, pays for my wonderful ride on the El.

Great story Tim. I love hearing old guys talk baseball. Hell, I just love to talk baseball, period!

I love it so much I immediately had to Google why we use the K to denote strikeouts on scorecards. Here's why.

Held hostage by angry, abusive bus driver

This is the short version of the nasty way a CTA 145 driver treated my elderly mother. He not only yelled at her and wanted her to get off the bus while he took a break (how many of us have sat on the bus while the driver needed to attend to 'something???') but then snarled at her when he saw that she was still on the bus after he took care of his, uh, business. He then yelled at her that she should pay another bus fare. Huh??

As if this wasn't enough, when she tried to exit the bus at the back, he refused to release the doors!! She then had to go to the front of the bus and she escaped only after the bus stopped to let people on. Sounds bizarre? My poor mom sounded like she was on the bus from H---! This is only the abridged version, awwrk!!

Thank you, CTA, for showing your appreciation toward your regular riders and people who have contributed to the betterment of other people's lives.

Chicamarya

I really feel sorry for you northside folks. I was going to move up there, but I heard parking was bad. Now I see all your bus and train service is just as bad. Last year I was riding the #145 or 146 from the state and lake train stop up to north michigan ave. The bus is usually the long accordian buses but this time it was a short bus. The bus was halfway full but when everybody got on the bus it was packed to the rim. I was in the back by the back doors and people were holding on to other people because there wasn't any space to get to a pole to hold on. We get to Michigan ave. and the next stop was crowded. The bus driver yells to the back and says for us to sqeeze to the back. All the people in the back of the bus were murmuring about how we're packed don't let anyone else on the bus. I guess people at the stop said they'd wait for the next bus to come around. We cross the chicago river and get to the next stop and some more people want to get on. The bus driver now is yelling threats that he won't move this bus unless we all squeeze in the back. I counted about 15 people standing by the back doors to the back wall, and that's not including the people who were sitting. He really wasn't moving the bus so everybody starting yelling at him and called him every name in the book. When I got off a few stops later I was so irate. They just announced the doomsday plan, they were going to cut my small bus service by my house, and I have to put up with this crappy service! It was the first time I ever called the CTA to complain. I had made a vow from that day on, if they want me to pay more for less service, I'm going to flood their complaint center with everything I see wrong.

I just discovered this site -- fabulous!

I've got a good-guy Blue Line driver, but I couldn't tell the CTA because I'm pretty sure he broke the rules. It was sometime last year. He was pulling out of Logan Square when a kid -- teenager -- came running up, begging him to stop. AND HE DID. I think of him every time some asshole slams the doors shut in my face.

In 2000, beginning my second year of living in Chicago, I had surgery performed on both feet for something called Tailor's bunions. My doctor didn't give me any kind of crutches or other walking aid despite the fact I had pins in both feet; and I was stuck wearing those ever-so-attractive padded wooden surgical shoes - you know the ones I mean, the blue and white ones (that now actually come in black as well). I was back at work in two weeks, but I would have to have the pins in for another two weeks and I would be wearing the surgical shoes for two months.

Due to the fact that the bus stop is about 1/4 as close to my house as the train station is, I took the 147 bus during this time instead of the Red line. The bus also allowed me to get off closer to work than the train.

It was Friday, and I'd only been back at work for a few days, but I was drained and my feet were already killing me when the end of the day came. On the way home I made a quick stop up at the Border's by Water Tower Place to pick up some books I had ordered, and waited at the Water Tower bus stop.

Well, you know how the 147 goes. You'll just miss one and then even though they're supposed to run "every 5-12 minutes" during the day and every 5 minutes during rush hour, you won't see one for 25 minutes or more. Luckily it was July, but on the other hand it was a hot, sticky day, and there was nowhere to sit. (I don't fathom why malls or the city redecorates and gives people absolutely nowhere to sit down. I assume it's to prevent homeless people from camping out, but the rest of us then have no place to sit down either). The bus finally showed up and it was packed. Looking down the road, I could see another 147 a couple stops away, so I watched the lemmings - err, passengers - cram into what little space there was left, leaving behind a still sizeable amount of people to get on the bus.

The next bus pulled up and by now I was in agony; I was looking forward to getting on the bus and sitting down. This bus too was looking full but not as full as the last. I climbed aboard, and noticed the disabled seats in the front were already taken up by a pregnant woman, a guy with a broken leg, and a couple of very elderly folks (and I was always taught to offer my seat to the elderly so no way was I going to ask them to get up). So I moved further back into the bus looking for a seat, but none were available. I ended up standing in that "accordian" part of the bus with people crammed in around us.

A tiny Hispanic woman was standing next to me, and she looked down and saw my feet. "Ai, ai, ai!" she said, "Bunions?" I nodded, at this point my feet so sore, and overall just sweating from the heat, that I didn't want to open my mouth for fear of screaming in pain. "I have had that done, very painful!" she said, seeing the thinly veiled pain on my face before before demanding, "Why aren't you sitting down?" I said weakly, "No seats." "No seats! No seats!" she said, looking around at the busfull of tired end-of-day commuters around us. She indignantly began saying to people, "Hey, this lady had foot surgery, can you give her your seat? Please?" Not a single person got up, most ignoring her or studiously looking at their reading, the floor, or out the window. "YOU PEOPLE!" she finally screamed in frustration, and I nearly chuckled - at least her indignation took my mind off my feet as the bus crawled through the Friday traffic up LSD - "Not one of you selfish people willing to get up for this lady, she had surgery, she's in pain! What is WRONG with you all!" I guess people figured that a 30-year-old woman with both feet in surgery shoes was in less pain then they were after putting in a day at the office.

This lovely, darling woman turned back to me, her eyes flashing in annoyance at her fellow passengers. "Ach, people, they all so selfish, they only think of their own behinds." She began discussing foot surgery with me, and she was very witty, which helped me keep my mind off my aching feet - at least for a bit of the ride. I won't forget her efforts on my behalf and it was delightful knowing that some people still have manners in this world.

I do also have to say a word of thanks to a number of the bus drivers who worked the 147 and 157 buses that summer. They were so kind towards me and my disability, which I had never really paid attention to before. They'd patiently use the "kneeling bus" step, or wait for me to slowly climb aboard step by step, and would check to see what stop I needed to get off at. So since those days, I have always made it a point to smile and thank my bus drivers. Their job isn't easy and it's usually quite thankless, and remember - your lives are in their hands.